Christmas Spirit
by rosabelle317
Summary: Sharon was really into Christmas. A tale of three Christmases, inspired by that holiday promo.


**Notes: **Sorry I've been MIA lately! I've been working on NaNoWriMo but I've got another story about Sharon and Emily that's almost ready to post (it just needs another round of editing and a proper ending) and I haven't forgotten about my other stories either. This one was entirely inspired by the ridiculous wall of bows on Sharon's wall in the holiday promo.

**Christmas Spirit**

**Christmas 2012**

Sharon was humming.

Rusty stood and watched her.

She sat on the couch with her back to him, bent over something in her lap. The tune was vaguely familiar and made him crave hot chocolate in the weirdest way, but he couldn't place it. He listened another moment, then took a few steps into the living room.

"Sharon?" he said, and watched her jump.

"Oh," she said, laughing a little as she turned around. "Rusty. I didn't think you were awake yet."

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, just..." She cleared her throat. "Do you celebrate Christmas?"

_Silent Night_. That was it. He remembered driving around with his mother, looking at the lights people had put up and singing along to the songs on the radio. Someone had stolen the radio out of her car a few years ago, but by then she hadn't been up for the experience, anyway.

"My mom, she..." Rusty ran through a dozen messed up stories in his head. Telling her any of them would put a real damper on her holiday spirit. "She wasn't real big on it, but yeah, I guess."

"I thought I'd do a little decorating," Sharon told him. "You're welcome to join me, if you'd like."

She gestured to whatever was on her lap, and he wandered over to take a look. There almost wasn't room for him on the couch with the ornaments she'd spread out across the cushions. There were an awful lot of stars, and resting against her leg were those colorful little balls.

There were also two in the shape of small socks. Rusty reached for one out of curiosity, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as he studied it. It was little and white, banded with green ribbon. Written in red embroidery was the name Richard William. The other was identical, except for the name. That one read Emily Anne.

"My mother made those for me," Sharon said quietly, watching him. "When my children were babies."

Rusty had the sudden, uncomfortable sense that he was touching something precious, something not meant for him, and he set the sock down as quickly as he could without looking _too_ hasty about it.

Sharon was really into her kids.

She didn't rub his face in it, but... she was. He could tell. She didn't really talk about them with him—Sharon didn't really talk about anything _with_ him—but she mentioned them sometimes, and whenever she did her face did this thing, and... Rusty wasn't even sure how that made him feel.

He didn't want to think about that too much.

"Aren't these supposed to go on a tree?"

"Well, yes," she said. "I was going to ask you if you wanted to go with me to pick one out."

"With you?" he repeated.

She nodded.

He hesitated.

"It's all right if you don't want to."

It might be nice.

"Am I supposed to get you a present or something?" He would come back to the other thought.

"Oh... well, no, you don't have to," she said. "You can if you'd like to."

He should get her something. She'd been good to him. Like, really good to him. Daniel hadn't been back to bother him since she'd scared him off.

"What do you want?"

"Surprise me," she said. "Is there anything _you_ would like?"

Surprise her. Great. He didn't know what she liked. What was he supposed to do, go through her stuff? He bet she'd love that.

"You already _know_ what I want."

"A car." She sounded exasperated already. He didn't know why he did that, brought up things that he knew would annoy her when they were having a perfectly nice conversation. "Rusty, we talked about this already."

"Not a _car_. I'm not asking you to _buy_ me a car." Who did that? "But like, if you would just _listen_." He'd made this argument to her before. He already knew how to drive, he just needed to get his license. Then he could get a job or something. Save up for the car. It would teach him responsibility.

He'd really thought the last point would win her over.

Maybe he shouldn't have added "or whatever" after "responsibility."

"Is there anyone else you'd like to buy a gift for?" she asked, in the tone he'd learned meant she wasn't going to discuss the other thing anymore. "Someone at work, maybe? Buzz has been helping you with your homework."

"I guess," he said. "I... don't really have any money."

He had a little bit. Not from before. From Sharon. He'd gone to the movies with some kids from school and even though he'd complained the whole way there about how embarrassing it was to have her drive him everywhere (that was what had started the whole car argument in the first place), she'd given him forty dollars when they'd gotten to the theater. She hadn't asked for the change back afterwards. He'd planned on not mentioning it, but the guilt ate at him and two hours after they'd gotten back home, he'd tried to give it back to her. Her answer had been to hang onto it for next time.

It wasn't a one time thing, either. So he had a little. He was saving it. He wasn't sure what for.

He didn't like asking Sharon for money.

"Why don't you make me a list of everyone you'd like to get a gift for?" she suggested. "Write down how much you think you'll need to spend on each person, then come talk to me. We'll work something out."

"A list?" he repeated. "Really?"

"I find they're helpful," she said.

Right.

"Or... if you'd rather browse through a couple of stores and see what we find, I suppose we could do that," she said. "But we're still going to work from a budget."

"Okay."

She gave him that look, the one that he'd figured out meant she was amused and trying not to show it, and cleared her throat. "So," she said. "What do you say about getting that tree?"

**Christmas 2013**

Sharon was trying really, really hard for Christmas cheer. Rusty could tell. He could also tell that she was doing an awful lot of it for his sake and he felt bad about that because in spite of all her efforts, this was on track to be the worse Christmas _ever_, and that was counting the last two with his mother and the one he'd spent with that _terrible_ foster family.

Sharon herself wasn't helping matters any, because there was really only one thing he wanted now and she was flatly refusing.

"Can I _please_ see the letters?" He asked her for the thousandth time over dinner, a week before Christmas.

"Rusty." She set down her fork in exasperation. "You can't have _death threats_ for Christmas, no."

He didn't _mean_ to smile. But when she said it like that, it did sound ridiculous and he felt his lip twitch before he could help it. He knew it wasn't funny, just... what was he supposed to _do_?

"In fact," Sharon added, "what _I_ would like for Christmas is to _not discuss them anymore._"

"But—"

"No," she said, firmly but quietly. "I'm putting a moratorium on the subject."

"A—what?"

"It _means_," she said, and fixed him with the sort of look that meant he had better listen, "that between now and December twenty-sixth, you're not going to ask to see them. You're not going to ask if there have been any more. You're not going to mention them at all."

"But—"

"Because if you _do_," she went on, and that was seriously unfair because he knew how she hated it when _he_ interrupted _her_, "then _I_ will begin to question whether you're sufficiently mature enough to participate in a police operation."

He glared at her.

She stared calmly back.

"You can't just change your _mind_."

"Oh no?" She arched an eyebrow. "Ask Emily what happened when I told her the car was a privilege conditional on good behavior."

"Fine," he grumbled. "When's she getting here, anyway?"

Sharon's expression turned abruptly sad. "She's not."

That was too bad because he knew she'd been looking forward to that, but Rusty wasn't quite ready to let the issue drop just yet. "Ricky, then."

"Him either."

"But..." Now he stopped, a sick feeling slowly rising in his stomach to displace all of the anger and frustration. "Why not?"

When she took her time answer, he knew.

"I have some safety concerns," she said at last.

Well, now he just felt like an asshole. Rusty swallowed and looked at Sharon, noticing how her expression was sad and tired and worried all at once, and all of a sudden the whole thing about Christmas seemed a lot less about him and a lot more like Sharon was trying really hard to cheer _herself_ up.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," she said.

But it kinda was. "Not for that," he said. "For the other stuff."

She gave him a strained smile. "Let's just not discuss it right now. Please."

He wanted to tell her that she should just go be with her kids, but... what was _he_ going to do, hang around with the security detail? He didn't think she'd go for it.

"Yeah," he said, because it was the only answer he could really make. "Okay. I won't."

Then she actually looked grateful and that just made him feel worse, because somehow he'd gotten so wrapped up in how much this sucked for _him_ that he'd forgotten it wasn't exactly fun for her, either. "Sharon?"

"Yes?"

"Can we make Christmas cookies?"

If she was surprised, it didn't show in her smile. "We can."

"Right now?"

She hesitated, then glanced at her watch. "Have you finished all of your homework?"

"Yes," he said. "I swear."

She hesitated again. "Why not?" she said at last, and rose. "Come on."

There were two packs of peppermint cookie dough in the fridge. Sharon had surprised him by coming home with it—he wasn't even allowed to go to the grocery store nowadays. When he'd asked, Sharon had said something about homemade being better, of course, but that there was something to be said for convenience.

He got what she meant, now, because if they'd started from scratch right now and had to wait half an hour for the dough to chill, it would be too late before they were done.

Rusty left one package in the fridge for later. He tucked the other under his arm and brought it with him to the drawer with the tin foil where he thought there was a roll of wax paper. While he did that, Sharon knelt down and began pulling cookie cutters out of the lower cabinets. He counted the quiet clinks of metal against the countertop, and turned around when he got to seven.

"How many of those are there?" He stared at the growing pile.

"I think there were eighteen in the set," she said, ignoring the look he gave her. "We don't have to use all of them."

He picked the Christmas tree, the star, and for Sharon, the angel. At least these would be _edible_ angels.

Rusty rolled the dough between two sheets of wax paper while she greased a baking sheet. She did it silently, but he thought she looked a little happier. When she came to help him cut out the cookies, she didn't say anything then, either, but she touched her shoulder gently to his. He felt a little better, at that.

He felt a lot better when he caught her stealing scraps of cookie dough when she thought he wasn't looking.

"Hey," he said. "That's not fair."

Wordlessly, she offered him the piece still in her hand.

**Christmas 2014**

Sharon was all about Christmas.

Rusty got that now.

Then he wandered into the living room the day after Thanksgiving and Sharon managed to surprise him after all, because she was carefully taping red bows to the wall between each of her ballet posters. He stared at her until she noticed him.

"Morning."

"Hey," he said. "What happened to the angels?"

"You don't like the bows?"

"I think some of them are off-center. _Kidding_," he added, when she glared at him. "It looks nice, Sharon."

If you liked bows.

"The angels are still in the closet," she said. "I'll bring them out when we get a tree but I thought I'd see how the bows looked on the walls first. I don't think they worked so well on the tree last year."

He came to stand next to her. "Did they clash with the angels or something?"

Sharon snorted. Her arm slid around him a moment later. "How do you think lights would look up on the ceiling?"

He was going to spend the entire day helping Sharon put up Christmas decorations, wasn't he?

No.

He was going to spend the entire day helping his mother put up Christmas decorations, because his mother had this totally weird attachment to Christmas.

That sounded so... normal.

And Sharon thought _he_ was a miracle.

"Hey." Sharon rubbed his shoulder when he didn't answer. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." He swallowed. "The lights might be too much."

"Hm," she said, and squinted at the ceiling.

"Are we waiting until Ricky and Emily get here to get the tree?"

"And buying a tree the day before Christmas Eve?" She shook her head. "We'll leave them some space to decorate."

"How do _they_ feel about the angels?"

"Who do you think bought them for me?" She gave his shoulder one last squeeze, then gestured at the pile of bows still on her desk. "Would you like to help?"

That actually sounded kind of... fun.

"Fine," he said. "But I'm eating first."

When Sharon followed him to the kitchen and started filling the kettle with water, it was the sort of thing he almost expected now. Rusty pulled a bowl down from the cabinet and grabbed the cereal with his other hand. There were plenty of Thanksgiving leftovers in the fridge, but Sharon would get cranky if he started eating slices of turkey off the tray with his fingers. He turned around to find her holding the milk.

He set down the cereal box to take it. "Hey, Sharon?"

She glanced at him.

"Since we were talking about Christmas—" He hesitated. "I'm going to go visit my mom. Not on _Christmas_ Christmas, but... a few days before. If she wants to see me." She'd sort of thrown a tantrum over the adoption thing. If he felt guilty about anything, it was that he didn't really feel guilty about anything. "And, like, I know we'll probably have a fight and she'll say something terrible, but I... I just think that I'd rather risk that than not go at all."

"You don't need to explain," Sharon said gently. "I know you love her."

Yeah. "And... I was kind of wondering if maybe you could come with me?"

Sharon's head tilted. It was the suggestion he'd snapped at her for making six months ago.

"Not _with_ me," he added. "But if you could just... wait somewhere, maybe?"

"I can do that," she said. "That reminds me. I have a favor to ask of you too."

He was grateful enough that she'd said yes without making him discuss it any more than he'd wanted to that he would've agreed to almost anything. He didn't tell her that. Instead, he poured milk into his cereal and gave her a wary look, because Sharon didn't ask him for things that often. At least not things more involved than cleaning his room or buying her another box of tea if he went near the store.

She smiled in faint amusement. "I'm supposed to have that whole week Ricky and Emily will be here off," she said. "But if that doesn't work out, would you mind terribly if I asked you to spend time with them alone?"

"I only _didn't_ want to spend time with Ricky before because he was a—" He caught himself. "A jerk. He got normal again after you yelled at him."

"As I intended."

She probably _hadn't_ intended for them to bond over how awful it was to get yelled at afterwards, but... Rusty had never really been angry with Ricky in the first place, and he'd overheard just enough of the lecture that he wouldn't have had the heart to stay angry, anyway, because seriously. Disappointing Sharon was its own punishment. He'd been pretty sure that Ricky wanted to cry.

"We worked it out," he said. "It's fine."

"Okay, then," she said. "And thank you."

He shrugged. "And thanks for..."

"Of course." She cleared her throat. "I was thinking we could go pick out a tree later today. How's that sound?"

He leaned back against the counter to eat his cereal. It probably would have been more comfortable to take it to the table but Sharon's water hadn't boiled yet, so he waited with her. "Sounds fun, I guess."

"Good," she said. "This afternoon, then."

"You know that traffic's going to be totally terrible, don't you?" he said. "The entire planet's out shopping."

"I've been driving a lot longer than you, young man," she said. "Of course I know."

"And you still want to go?"

"I do," she said. "Even if the entire planet's out shopping."

"Fine," he said, and ate the last of his cereal just as the kettle finally whistled. He was going to help his mother put up Christmas decorations, and then they were going to go buy a Christmas tree, and then they were probably going to get into an argument when they got caught in a Black Friday traffic jam.

Okay.

He could do that.


End file.
